


Lemon Boy

by Muzuki_chan



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Abuse, Domestic Violence, Izuo - Freeform, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Violence, probably some cheating at some point possibly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 06:15:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10870806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muzuki_chan/pseuds/Muzuki_chan
Summary: He's normal, or at least trying to be within the city of Ikebukuro that is swarmed on a daily basis with rumors, fancy lies and gritty truths; what more could he ask for? Except his thick skin can't always save him from anything when everything goes awry the day he's pinned for a murder he didn't commit and his secret relationship with Shiki Haruya is on the rocks.Sometimes it's okay to pretend that normality exists, but not for long. Secrets are piling, kisses are stolen and information is certainly being filed away for safe keeping. Why should any playful facade of normality exist anyway, especially in Ikebukuro, the commercial and entertainment district of all places?





	1. Soap Water

**Author's Note:**

> That was the most terrible summary I have ever written in my life because it sounds more whimsical and fun than the shit I'm about to post. So the summary may or may not change at some point, but other than that, please do read the tags for your own safety!

Several months ago, he would have deliberately lied – a white-lie isn’t harmful, not really, right? – and said that everything was fine. Nothing could hurt him, because hurting him was impossible, and that would be only at least half the truth. Nothing could hurt him, not when he had such a high pain tolerance and a childhood filled with broken bones, pudding cups, and sweet pastries. But that was only the physical aspect; never thinking about how malleable his perception of reality was or how easily he would succumb to emotional manipulation – who had time to think about that anyways when he could just beat the shit out of them in two seconds flat? Who the fuck gave a shit about that when it was basically second-nature for him to sniff out the slimy imposters and smarmy con-artists that festered in the city; and if they didn’t come to him first, it was most likely him walking into them and doing the city a job by getting rid of ‘em.

 

Several months ago, he would have deliberately evade every nosy poke and question that vaguely asked not enough but also too much, causing an alarm to go off inside his head saying _“I think they know, but they can’t know”_ like a mantra. Everything was perfect, he never asked for too much like a spoiled brat, and he always did his best to change what he could and minimize what he couldn’t, so how did they get like this?

 

.

.

.

 

He comes to consciousness from the warmth of the bath water. His head tilts, resting against the side of the tub with his ears pressed against the porcelain that reverberates with the hum of the bathroom light and the constant dripping of the water faucet hitting the surface of the bath - _how long has he been in here?_ The steam is still rising and the scalding sting of the heat mars his skin with blotchy patches of pink across his chest and thighs; it brings back a dull throb of pain in his hands that forces back the terrifying darkness of what could only be what happened before the blackout.

 

The staccato tapping of fingernails against plastic rouses him to open his eyes; freshly bruised and bloodied knuckles are the first thing he sees, the slight murk of the water with the feel of dirt and grit floats in the water, and the last that raises his attention to looking up is the obnoxiously loud snap of a finger. Lifting his head to turn his gaze to his left and he sees him; sitting there hunched towards him with a black cellular device clutched tightly in his hands, brows knitted together with a cold glare and a grimace pulling taut on his lips. Just seconds after blinking away the haze of the steam from his eyes does the man's voice spit out: "Well? How was it?"

 

The man gestures to the cell in his hands and thrusts it forward into his face with a thunderous expression and a challenge dripping like hot venom off his tongue. "Are you done making threats with these idiotic phone calls? Or should we do that again for real this time?" Fear ripples up his spine, rising the hair on the nape of his neck and the trepidation settles low in his stomach, gnawing on the inside of his gut as he shakes his head. The man takes the answer with silence, a nod of the head and shoves the phone back into the pocket of his pants. The man’s eyes rake over his figure with disdain blooming on his expression and turns away to search for something.

 

Not once does speaking out loud come to mind as a way to respond – he won’t speak, he _can’t_ speak. The inside of his throat burns raw just from breathing in the warm vapors of the bath and his fingers still shake with an onslaught of trembling from shock. A pulse pounds loud in his eardrums – _he can’t breathe_. His lungs ache for cool air as his ribs constrict with a tightness that won’t alleviate. Fingers dig into the sides of the bathtub as nausea begins to whirl in his stomach, his head feeling light and his own fast-paced breathing is blasted loud in his own ears like disjointed static.

 

The water is still warm to the touch but the palms of his hands and the tips of his fingers grow cold and the trepidation is beginning to swirl with apprehension tunneling his vision. He’s trying to gulp in mouthfuls of air quietly but it’s not enough; oh god, the slamming of his heart grows louder and the tightness in his chest is becoming unbearable – his heart and lungs are going to burst if he doesn’t get the air he needs. Fighting to take in another swallow of oxygen, it’s then that the – whatever it is, he doesn’t know why it happened but the pain of an upcoming headache is starting to crawl into the back of his head like an unwelcomed guest.

 

In the midst of this all, the man doesn’t seem to have noticed as he has his back turned to grab a bottle of men’s hair shampoo and conditioner from the cabinet below the sink. When the man turns back around, he doesn’t acknowledge the way of how the nude man resting in the bathtub has curled in on himself, his fingers with dirt underneath the nails digging into biceps and eyes shut tight.

 

The man rolls the sleeves of his black button-up shirt before dipping his fingers into the warm water of the bath, soaking his hands wet before pumping out several dollops of shampoo into his palm. He reaches for the nude male’s dyed hair; his fingers are holding just merely breaths away from touching the man’s scalp, yet the male flinches away from his touch like a child from a hot stove. With impatience and shallow pity adorning his face, the man only waits a minute for the nude male still sitting in a curled position - knees pressed to his chest and arms holding them close with hands holding a vice-like grip on his own forearms – to relax before trying again to scrub away the dirt and grime clinging to the man’s dyed hair. It is only three minutes into the lathering and massaging of the shampoo that a throaty-almost-hoarse voice whimpers out.

 

“…I-I’m…I’m so-orry.”

 

Silence lingers heavy in the air between the two before a disgruntled sigh slips from the other man. “If you weren’t so stupid, I wouldn’t have to do such things – wouldn’t have to get physical all the time.”

 

He yanks the hair, only to let go in a split second as if that harsh pull and the hitched breath of pain was an illusion.

 

“Stop crying,” he huffs, fingers combing through the tangles of dirt, debris and minuscule wood chips that are caught in the man’s dyed hair. “I can’t stand your pathetic behavior— _you’re not even bleeding_.”

 

He scrubs harder. It’s hard to tell whether it’s intentional or not with the way his face is pulled into an angry snarl - irritation and anger rattling in his every intake of breath - and with the way his eyes seem to glaze over as if his focus were placed elsewhere. Intentional on whether he means to scrub the man’s hair so hard with blunts nails scraping against the scalp. After a few solid minutes, with sud and foam bubbles arising and covering his fingers, he nonchalantly yet almost acting as if disgusted or having his time wasted, flings the suds off of his fingers and then washes the remaining suds by dipping his hands into the bath water.

 

The man lets out a defeated sigh. “We used to be so happy….”

  
The water splashes and the lathering of shampoo is washed out with warm water from the hand-held shower nozzle, the suds quickly being washed out and into the bath water. Silence still lingers damp in the air between them both – much too heavy for one, and a comfortable silence for the other.


	2. Brass Horse Lounge

The smooth roll of jazz, cellos, and plinking piano keys rumble from the sound-system stereos as the clock hung behind the bar counter ticks closer to twelve-thirty in the morning. His finger taps to the rhythm as he rests his chin on the palm of the other hand, a cigarette dangling between his middle and forefinger with the end still burning with a wisp of hazy smoke leaving a trail in the air.

 

His eyes lay half-open, drowsing with the temptation to sleep away but the click of a PDA brings his attention back with a snap as the dim light of the electronic screen shines across his face.

 

“…Just tell him to fuck off or somethin’, Celty. And if he doesn’t, just text me and I’ll take care of him for you.”

 

The girl sitting on the other side of the bar counter shakes her head, or rather her helmet – the low lights glint off her yellow, seemingly what it looks to be like a cat-eared helmet and the black tint of her visor that allows no reflection of a face to be seen – and exaggerates a laugh with the shake of her shoulders. She taps into the PDA, fingers swift and dexterous across the small keyboard and whips it back to him.

 

[He’s not that bad, it’s Shinra after all. I just don’t know how to make him stop buying all these silly clothes.] She scrolls the bar of the message down and several pictures pop up, one of them still buffering with a loading circling in the middle of it. [It looks ridiculous, doesn’t it?]

 

He leans closer, eyes squinting to adjust to the still-somehow-brighter light of the cell device and swipes his finger to look through the pictures. A crack of a smile drips from his lips, curling at the edges of his mouth that threaten to pull taut on his cheeks as he looks over all the photos. “I don’t know what to tell you Celty. They don’t look that bad; hey, they might even look good on you—wouldn’t hurt to try and wear something new instead of the usual, ya know, leather jumpsuit and all.”

 

Celty tilts her head downwards, looking at herself before taking back the PDA and taps several more words into it. [I could say the same to you, Mr. I—wear—this—bartender—suit—twenty-four seven.]

 

“Whatever,” he chuckles, pushing himself away from the counter bar in feigned annoyance. He swivels his body to the left to look at the clock hanging behind him, catching a look at the clock hands that are now positioned at twelve thirty-five before turning back to Celty. “Anyways, anythin’ else that’s been bothering you lately?”

 

She cradles the PDA in the palm of her hands as she raises – hunches her shoulders inward with the drop of her head. Her fingers waver over the keyboard for a split second underneath the steady gaze of his eyes and soon enough she types her worries into stark letters.

 

[Are you feeling alright? You don’t look it…have you been getting enough sleep lately?]

 

She settles the PDA on the counter, leaning with her leather-sleeved elbows on the table with her head faced towards him with absolute focus. He remains silent for a second too long before smiling, a chuckle hitching in his throat as his eyes flicker back to the cigarette still held between his fingers. “ ‘m fine, really, no need to worry ‘bout me. I’ve just been getting some night shifts more frequently because of- Ryuugasaki? Yeah, the college kid’s got some night classes now and well,” he shrugs, “Manager gave them to me.”

 

He shifts his weight to the other foot and blinks as she pulls back with a resigned fall of her shoulders. Celty doesn’t bring another comment to say as he uses the moment to take another drag of the stick, the soft burn lingering in his throat delivers a nasty, bitter yet calming taste before he exhales away from the counter. The thrumming of heat and cold sweat in his fingers are reduced to the prickling sensation of pins and needles stabbing his palm.

 

The bar is empty tonight thankfully, even ten minutes to talk with Celty is a gift that shouldn’t go wasted. Most of the customers that sit on the counter or by the tables have slipped into a static hum of voices sewn together like a messy acapella. Chortles and guffaws sound out here and there, but the longer the night goes on, the louder the classic soundtrack gets and the less the appeal to serve drowsing customers tingle like an alarm in his head.

 

“…I must really look like shit then, huh?” He laughs, drawling out a breathy chuckle as he takes another drag of the cigarette. Celty shakes her head, a hand plastered to her visor in exasperation as the other hand types rapidly. The smoke of the cigarette still lays heavy on his tongue and throat when she brings the device back up, her posture leaning forward far enough to where her body weight is held more on the counter than the stool she sits on.

 

[You look exhausted, and you have dark bags underneath your eyes. Get plenty of rest when you get home, promise me?]

 

“Yeah, yeah, I'm going home soon in a bit anyway and- oi, if Shinra tries to invade your space again just let me know and I’ll hurl him across the fucking ocean for ya, alright?”

 

Her shoulders shake with laughter, head shaking as she raises a palm to lean against on the bar counter and if he wasn't looking any closer or if he hadn't known her for so long, the small wisp of black smoke that wafted from the crevice of where her sleeves end and gloves began would have been easily missed under the guise of drowsiness. Celty continued in her serene silence with a finger trailing over the smooth bar table, the soft rustic-colored mahogany shining beneath the small fraction of glass that kept the wood away from being dented over the years as he shuffled away to clean the glasses as he periodically did under the pretense of pretending to work - even if he technically clocked out ten minutes ago, sitting beside Celty in his bartender suit rubs an awkward tick in his spine that it would be strange if he did, especially since the customers can't differentiate a bartender in their uniform clocking in or out of work.

 

Just as his fingers drag against a clean towel to dry his hands on, a rough buzz - an elongated _vrrrm_ vibrates in his pockets and it shocks him still for a barely a moment, seizing his movements captive until Celty glances his way with confusion that melts to bubbling anticipation.

 

Her body and shoulder brightens up with jump as her posture replicates a delicate "Oh?" movement as she brings up her PDA: [Is that who I think it is?]

 

He gives a small quirk of a smile as he eases a movement of stiff muscles to relaxation, something that he's practiced so well he can easily fall into the motion of doing without thinking. He digs the phone out his pocket and with a click of the button, the dim light of his cell illuminates the fabric of his black slacks and the name _Shiki Haruya_ blazes itself into his retinas with a stark contrast of black against white.

 

[I'll go with you.] she types onto her PDA. [I have to deliver a late-night package to a new client who lives in Shinjuku in a bit.]

  
He nods with appreciation but the smile on his face tugs at his cheeks until it feels like his whole expression has fallen into a grimace; eyes dragging open and burning with a slight irritation from the cold air. He strides quickly into the employee-room in the back, signing off with a few sparse words with the manager before coming back out with a small smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going to take a while for me to post the third chapter but hopefully it won't take too long. Anyways, thank you for reading!


	3. Nightly Walks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be posted a week ago, but school got in the way lol sorry bout that.

When both of them are approximately five feet or so away from the closing doors of the bar Shizuo can feel the arctic breath of the night pounce on his body, chilly paws swiping its claws across his cheeks with a brisk slap. The cold air digs their way down through the loose twinning threads of his bartender uniform except the tightness of the black bowtie snapped around his throat keeps the draft from sipping away the core of his warmth. Celty walks beside him with light steps that he can barely hear. Her black boots almost seem non-existent in the inky darkness spare from the bright shop lights along with the blaring street lights that shine against her figure, pulling a shadow away from her distinct form but never leaving even a glint of light against her figure as if she was the darkness herself. Celty angles her PDA at him, several more words typed on it and the shake of her hands waving in an expressive manner as she continues to trot beside Shizuo.

 

He can feel the outer edges of his eyes ache and droop, the winter chill drying his eyes out which doesn't help the fact that he's nearly dozing off on his feet despite walking side by side with Celty. Other than the repeated flashes of white from her PDA and the constant nudges of her shoulder guiding them away from walking into the street keeps him awake long enough to give in and converse with her silent, excited chatter.

 

"Fuck if I know why Shinra does that stupid shit. Your guess is as good as mine...." Shizuo hums the words, letting the syllables tumble like rough gravel down his throat as his mouth decides to salivate at the savory smell of chicken broth wafting their way from the small traditional-styled dinner near the corner of the street. Their sign printed on a starch white cloth outside the sliding door trembles from the constant drafts and shifting of open and closing doors; Shizuo's scrunches his nose up in distaste as the smell of downtown funnels in with the scent of warm soup broth. The smell of downtown isn’t the greatest: the smell of car exhaust and asphalt and the wafting scent of savory street food with the oddity of the garbage dumps tinged as the bitter, tangy extract in the inhale of breath.

 

Shizuo feels Celty nudge her shoulder against his bicep and when he turns to look, her head is tilted to the left and her PDA held just by her leather-clad fingertips and her other hand is almost tugging on his white shirt sleeve except she lets the weight of her hand pull it down when Celty watches Shizuo's eyes scan lazily over her words.

 

[...I know I shouldn't butt in], her hand shakes as she types rapidly despite the small hesitant pauses that are almost unnoticeable except for the fact that her head ducks down along with the rhythm of her chest as if she's gulping down mouthfuls of air. [But who _are_  you dating? I know what you've said before about him but, do I know him perhaps?]

 

"It's, uh-" Shizuo coughs. His cheeks flush a pale pink, barely noticeable when the street lights have such a yellow glare and the store signs are shining such a contrast of white against the inky night. "I mean you might  know him--"

 

[Is he like Kasuka? Is he also an actor?] Celty brings the PDA back down and against her own face, shoulders hunched up while her left hand scratches the bottom of her yellow helmet and her helmet rolls to the side again for a while before striking back words to the sleek keyboard of the device and quickly the screen is back to him again. [Is that why you can't really tell anyone? If so, that would make a lot of sense!]

 

The pace of their steady-to-unsteady gait slows to a barely-moving walk. Shizuo stares at the screen for a second longer than usual and he feels the tingles of a laugh feathering the insides of his throat and before he knows it he's letting out a small huff of a laugh. "He's not an actor, though he does wear suits a lot. Sorry, even if I wanted to, I really can't tell you his name or anything...."

 

[That's a bit strange though, isn't it?] Her shoulders shake for a second, and Shizuo can imagine a trailing high note of a laugh coming from her lips when she pulls her arms up to stretch away the building fatigue that he's sure is beginning to build up in his muscles as well. [Well, not that it's not normal for people to do, but....| ] Her fingers retract and curl when Celty looks up and catches a glimpse of an unfiltered grimace passing through his dry lips and her fingers are back on the keyboard typing up a hurried apology.

 

Shizuo shakes his head, hands raised and waving while offering her what he hopes to be a reassuring smile despite the heaviness weighing against the muscles of his cheeks pulling upwards when Celty's shoulders sags into a defeated gesture. That is until her shoulders pull back up again and she goes back to offering smaller and fainter words of apologies that leak with mournfulness.

 

"Nah, s'okay Celty. Really, it's alright."

  

[No, it's not! It's totally okay and normal to have a private relationship! I mean, just because it's something that I'm not accustomed to it doesn't mean that it's strange or not normal or is a bad thing and-]

 

Shizuo raises his hands to grab hold of the device and gently brings it down as he stares straight into her visor, seeing his own reflection peering back at him with an uncomfortable sag of his dry, chapped lips and his squinting eyes that hold dark bags beneath his bottom lashes. It's shocking to see how dark the bags are beneath his eyes, and it almost makes him wonder how much sleep he's actually been getting lately.

 

"The reason we can't really tell anyone who I'm dating is because...." Shizuo merely breathes and the air feels more like crumbles of dirt and rocks in his mouth; it was simpler to think in his head, to discuss the topic but now that he's saying it out loud it feels all the more childish and incredulous to even try to understand from a logical viewpoint. Shizuo switches his fixated eyes from the yellow of her cat-eared helmet with the blue streak going across it to the cars on the street that seem to pass them by either in groups or the sole stragglers that linger behind the car posse as they drive on the cusp of the speed limit like what a good citizen should do. "He and I, it's just something that the two of us want to keep private for a while. And with the type of jobs he gets into and for the type of person he is, sometimes it's, well, better to keep this relationship just to ourselves...." Shizuo chuckles apologetically, his right hand raised to scratch the back of his nape as his eyes fall to the floor. "It's just really complicated; it's just, kinda hand to explain at the moment, sorry 'bout that, Celty."

 

She stares at him for a while, his reflection still stark against the black of her visor before she turns her head away to look at the night traffic and the reds and yellows of headlights of cars. Her PDA rests still and silent by her thigh, her thumb stroking the screen as if she's waiting for a message, or for just a moment of time to think of something to say, but the silent isn't wholly unwelcome in the situation. Shizuo watches her, before he too looks into the traffic of cars with her and watches the lights of the street turn from green, yellow, and red and back again for a while. And by the time he's counted up the second yellow light, Shizuo sees Celty type back on her PDA again.

 

[Even if it takes a year or so, I do hope that eventually on your own time you and him will come out and be able to enjoy the simplicity of things that most couples can do publicly like Shinra and I....] Celty stops, her forefinger stroking the keys as if she's deciding how to phrase the particular sentence she wants to say next, and before Shizuo can tell her anything, she taps the keys silently albeit the continuous rush of cars passing by them and how the silent yet fast taps of her keys match the thrumming of his heartbeat. [And even if you guys never start to date publicly, I will still support your relationship.]

 

Celty turns her face away, smoky black visor fully pointed down the far vanishing point of where the sidewalks takes a sharp turn to the right and disappears into a different road that hides behind the grocery store: filled with cheap sweets and a couple terrible low-end brand liquor that mostly devious high school kids buy to get a cheap high. Shizuo watches her walk away, her heels tapping into the ground delicately yet heavy from each sharp tap of the heel of her motorcycle boots and Shizuo soon follows after her. They don't mention the hesitation of Shizuo following her seconds later, and they don't mention at all the way of how Shizuo's brows furrow, his hand timidly raising upwards to pull at his earlobe and then finally resting on the back of his clammy nape; they don't mention at all the fact that it's so blatantly obvious how he looks _guilty_ , but Shizuo boils it down to the fact that only one of them knows why he feels that way, and that person is certainly not Celty.

  

There are words that claw his throat, bubbling against the soft tissue of his esophagus but Shizuo can't find the words to tell in exact detail in the way that he wants too. He feels the spark and the high-strung anxiousness to grab Celty's hand and spill the truth, but what is the truth? And what does he even want to _say?_ But the as fast as the words want to erupt they equally ease down when his cellphone buzzes in his pocket the same time Celty's phone rings with a new text message.

 

She swiftly comes to a halt and pivots, almost twirls on the balls of her feet and steps back to him with her attention caught on to the few messages popping up on her phone. She types a message back into her phone, typing quickly on the keyboard as if instead she's tapping on a game controller instead with her rapid speed and intensity. After ending the message she looks back up to Shizuo, who's been watching her for a while, waiting for what she wants to say and barely cracks a small smile at the way Celty's shoulder hunch upward before dropping into a deep sag as if she's sighing with regret.

 

[My new client from Shinjuku just texted me saying they need their parcel package in several minutes due to some complications.] Celty places her left hand on her hip while she types some more. [I really wanted to talk to you some more, but I've really got to go now so I'll see you later, alright?]

 

Shizuo's hands are beyond clammy despite the chill of the night and he feels another quiet vibration of a message of his cellphone in the deep pockets of his black slacks and he can barely breathe. The words he wants to say lay tangled together on the tip of his tongue but the words of warm-hearted goodbyes come out alright when he tells Celty with an awkwardly forced smile that he'll definitely see her later. Celty doesn't comment much about these awkward things about him like how most would, thoughts grazing left and right through his mind that Celty knows and respects his space much more than most, but it almost feels like a bad thing that she does on night such as this one.

  

The nights where sometimes there are things he wants to say right before she goes so he can drag out time to avoid the unavoidable.

 

But sometimes there are unfavorable situations that can't be stopped.

 

Celty leaves him a few more responses that drag out the dry and tired laugh from his lungs as she walks around the corner of the street of where she's left her equally sleek and black motorcycle. Trudging back to him with her motorcycle, Shooter, by her side, She angles her device back up to him. [I'll be a bit busy this week since my schedules a bit full with a lot of new and old clients, so let's try to hang out sometime next week!]

 

She slips herself into the seat of the motorcycle that's already humming to life, phone in her hand that's a second away from being dropped down the slim sleeves of her leather bike suit before she catches herself from doing so in order to type some more before leaving. [And also, good luck on solving the complicated issue with your partner!] And with that, Celty steps on, revving the motorcycle that leaves a strange shiver of goosebumps washing across his arms as the the revving sounds more like a high pitched whiny of a stallion. In a flash, Celty speeds away into the empty street roads and straight into the direction of the highway.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
